Mary's hen party
by AuroreMoriarty
Summary: In collaboration with nerwende90 (as Mary). While John and Sherlock went to pubs around crime scenes before ending up in a prison cell, Mary had a hen party of her own, organised by Molly Hooper. The problem? The two women barely knew each other. Awkward moments ahead!
1. Molly

Maybe I wasn't the perfect person to do that. I've known her for a very short time – weeks actually. I met her the day of her engagement party. I don't really know why I was there. I wasn't a friend of hers, obviously nor a close friend of John's. And that day, we barely talked to each other: she was always surrounded by people asking her all about the proposal, and I was in my corner with my fiancé, Tom.

Anyway, we met every now and then and we kept on with small talks. But when Greg told me about John's stag party, I wondered if she would have one. Maybe it was already planned but I wasn't invited, which I could easily understand as we barely knew each other. I asked Mrs Hudson – she always knows everything, I don't understand why Sherlock doesn't ask her more often for gossip as a start for some of his cases – and she didn't know anything. The conclusion was blindingly obvious: no hen party. I found that sad. So I decided to take care of that myself because she was going to be a part of the team and…Not that I mean that I'm part of the team or close to Sherlock. I don't know why I said that. I don't mean that Sherlock likes me or… Besides, I'm engaged to Tom so… Why does everything sound wrong? Maybe I should stop now and keep on telling the story. Alright.

I went to Sherlock because he was planning John's stag and I didn't want the soon-to-be-married couple to be at the same place at the same time. Sherlock's idea was perfect: the combination of tradition, originality and doing something close to their spirit. I wanted to do that too but there was a big problem: I didn't know who Mary was, beside John's fiancée. I wanted to ask him for help when I thought that was a very bad idea because: a) I'm very bad at keeping secrets and I might have blurted out information about his _secret_ stag and b) you don't ask the groom to organise the hen party.

The best thing was to ask her first then to try to organise something…or to improvise, at least a bit. You can't really have fun if everything is planned, can you? And I'm not saying that to stop feeling guilty about not planning every little thing of that evening. No, not knowing is fun, it's like going on an adventure… I won't lie, I prefer the element of surprise in films, books and Tv shows. Not for real, thank you.

So, when I next saw her, I decided to put aside the small talks to enter the subject.

"I was wondering if you'll have a hen party.

\- - Er, no, actually I won't.

\- - But why? I mean, it's something important. Everyone has one. I could organise it. Not a big thing but…Why not a drink, just Mrs Hudson, you and me?"

I smiled awkwardly. I was so embarrassed. At that time, I was wondering why I asked her, why it mattered to me. I didn't really want to do that. Can you imagine a more pitiful party than an old lady and two women who barely know each other? I wanted to turn back and say "never mind" but to my great surprise, she smiled back at me and said "That's a good idea, thank you".


	2. Mary

I want to start this off with a disclaimer: I don't know Molly Hooper.

Well, I do, but not really. I know her in the sense that her existence is known to me and we have exchanged words, but that's about as far as it goes. She's a sweet girl, really, and I've often found myself thinking that it would be nice for us to be friends. Especially when she and my husband's best friends are so desperately in love with each other that it's almost painful to watch. In fact, John and I have plotted more than once to get them to stop dancing around each other and go for it but, as my future-husband has so aptly put it, « How do you get an under-emotional person and an over-emotional person together without losing your own sanity in the process? » So we've agreed to sit back and watch, and let them sort it out for themselves. We may or may not have placed bets on it, though.

That being said, I genuinely like Molly. She's a breath of fresh air in the middle of all those macho men running about on their cases. But I have to admit, she rather had me on the back foot when she came up to me one day and casually mentioned a hen party. Let me repeat that. Molly Hooper, the cuddly jumpers-wearing, cat-loving, soft-spoken Molly Hooper, suggested that I should have a hen party. The first thing that popped into my mind is the image of these groups of girls you see running around in silly costumes, starting off tipsy and getting steadily drunker all through the night. Not my type of fun, thank you very much.

Thankfully, all she was offering were drinks with her and Mrs. Hudson. And she was offering to organise it herself so really, how edgy could it get? I still wasn't big on the idea of a hen party, but I could see that she really wanted to do this for me. I could see, too, that she was a second away from backpedalling, probably regretting bringing it up. And the motherly instincts in me couldn't bear to disappoint her. Besides, it would be an occasion to spend a nice, fun night with her and Mrs. Hudson. So I simply smiled and agreed.

Her eyes grew about two sizes and she gaped at me for a second, and I was almost afraid I'd broken her. But then she smiled brightly and said, « Great! » with a cheeriness that didn't sound entirely authentic. « I was thinking we could do this next Saturday? Sherlock will be taking John out for his stag night anyway and... » she interrupted herself, wincing at her own words. « Oh God, » she moaned, « You won't tell John, will you? It was supposed to be a surprise, and Sherlock will kill me if I ruin it. » Seriously, that girl is too cute for her own good.

I couldn't help but laugh. « Your secret's safe with me, » I vowed solemnly, and she gave me a relieved smile. « Next Saturday sounds good, » I assured her.

« Great! » she said again, and I couldn't help but wonder if she would have said that no matter what my answer had been. « So, I'll... » she looked around, frowning at herself, apparently wondering what the next step was supposed to be. Then, with a determined nod, she turned back to me. « I'll take care of everything. I'll go pick up Mrs. Hudson, then you. Let's say... Eight-ish?

\- Eight-ish is perfect.

\- Gr- Good. »

As she left, with a big smile on her face but a stiff walk, it became painfully obvious that she hadn't really counted of my saying yes, and now that I had, she had no idea what to do. I was chuckling to myself just as John came back and frowned at me. « What are you laughing at? » he asked, « Does it have anything to do with the stag night Sherlock is throwing me that I'm not supposed to know about ?

\- Yes and no. »

So there I was, awaiting my fate at the hands of the world's sweetest medical examiner. Well, if nothing else, this promised to be interesting.


	3. Molly 2

Now that Mary had accepted, I had to work on it. I had never been to that kind of party before (I'm not really a party girl, as you might have noticed), I was completely lost.

When I came back to my flat that evening, I was quite desperate. I had tried all day long to find ideas but no one, besides the typical group of girly friends in silly costumes singing and challenging people on the streets – which wouldn't be Mary's cup of tea, I think- , came to my mind. So, as nearly every normal people nowadays, I asked the God Google for help. Hopefully, there's plenty creative people on the Internet, ready to help the unfortunates. After some little researches, I came up with this list of possible activities:

\- - Afternoon tea;

\- - Karaoke night;

\- - Cooking lessons;

\- - Theatre/ Cinema;

\- - Bars

Of course, you couldn't do everything on the list, but I like the idea of letting Mary decide something. It was her party, after all. The next step was the invitation. I summoned my courage to take my phone and composed Mrs Hudson's number. It rang and I was waiting, hoping that she wouldn't answer, that I could get away with leaving a message. I know that, as an adult, I shouldn't be afraid of a phone call, but I can't help myself. There's a reason I do post-mortem. Unfortunately, she waited for the last ring to answer.

"Hello?

\- - Hello, Mrs Hudson? It's Molly...Um Molly Hooper. Sherlock and John's friend.

\- - Oh, hello dear.

\- - Hello.

\- - Sherlock isn't answering his phone? Do you want me to give him the phone?

\- - No, actually I wanted to talk to you.

\- - Really? Oh, lovely.

\- - Um... I'm in charge of Mary's hen party and...

\- - Oh, she's having a hen party?

\- - Yes, and I wanted to know if you would like to join us.

\- - Thank you, dear. I'd love to.

\- - Great. It's on Saturday, I'll pick you up at eight. Bye."

I might have hung up a little bit too soon. Sorry Mrs Hudson, if you're reading this.

Before leaving that Saturday, I put on my bag everything I needed for the evening, without forgetting to put the list on top of the whole mess. I took a deep breath – in about 4 hours it would be over – took my mp3 to listen to Glee covers to relax, closed the door and walked down the street, trying to find a cab.

I arrived at Baker Street a little bit earlier than expected. As I hate not being punctual, I didn't want to knock on the door. I waited there for a few seconds before thinking that it was weird. With my eyes on the watch, I went for a little walk in Regent's Park, then returned to Baker Street at eight, as I was supposed to be. Mrs Hudson let me in and we went to the living room to wait for Mary. We waited for ten minutes. Then ten more. I started to worry: has something happened? Was it normal?

Then I remembered: we agreed that I, and Mrs Hudson, would pick her up at her house. Twenty minutes earlier.


	4. Mary 2

I wish I could say I didn't spent the week wondering what Molly was up to and giggling to myself as I imagined a _Glee_ marathon complete with woolly jumpers and tea, but I'm afraid that this is exactly what I did. John, for his part, started worrying about Sherlock re-creating murder scenes or making celebratory experiments. I think he won the anticipation game.

When the fateful night came, Sherlock showed up at six-thirty and told John he wanted to « see him about an important matter ». John was gracious enough to play along, but still rolled his eyes at me as he put his jacket on. I gave him a goodbye kiss, whispered a « Good luck » he echoed, and watched him leave with his insane ex-flatmate. I briefly wondered if I was going to get him back in one piece, but only briefly.

Meanwhile, I had to get ready. I have never been an overly-vain woman, often choosing comfort over esthetics. But as I saw my jeans-clad reflection in the mirror, I smiled at myself and muttered a « Oh, what the hell, » before rummaging through my wardrobe for something a bit fancier. After all, Molly had probably put a lot of thought and effort into tonight, so I might as well make an effort.

A decision that, of course, I regretted about five minutes later.

I pride myself into being a smart, down-to-earth woman, not to be influenced by fashion. But the thing is, when I do decide to make an effort, my own standards go through the roof. Go big or go home. I tried on six different dresses – some of them twice – and about as many pairs of shoes, burn myself with the hair straightener while trying to create « textures waves for short hair » – it looked so easy when that Ingrid Nilsen girl did it on YouTube – and I won't even tell you about the emotional turmoil it was to get my « perfect eyeliner wings » even. I thought that, after I'd managed it for that night when John tried to propose and was interrupted by Not-Dead-Fred, it would be easier this time around.

Eight Demak'up wipes and two nervous breakdowns later, I was forced to admit that I may have over-estimated my chances.

When finally I managed to get a result that didn't make me want to hide in my wardrobe forever, I saw that it was ten to eight. Good gracious, it had taken me over an hour to get ready. I decided right then that if no one complimented my appearance within the first five minutes, I was bailing.

No, not seriously. Who do you take me for?

Taking my coat and my handbag with me, I went to sit on the sofa, ready to go. Molly was known for her punctuality, and I was determined not to keep her waiting. Sitting there as the seconds ticked by, I found myself actually feeling excited. I hadn't had a girls night out in... Well, I'd never had a girls night out before. True, this one was going to be particularly low-key but, to be honest, I'd take low-key over wild anyday.

I also wondered what the boys were up to. I was a bit worried about Sherlock getting John into trouble, but at the same time, I knew my fiancé was in good hands. At least, with a friend like Sherlock, I knew that the night couldn't possibly end with anyone being plastered off their face, or getting into drunk fights.

Five minutes went by. Then ten. Then fifteen. Then twenty. I frowned at the clock, wondering why the doorbell hadn't rung yet. Maybe I got the time wrong? Or maybe Molly had had a last minute delay? Or maybe she had purposefully told me the wrong time because she had a surprise in mind. I sincerely hoped it wasn't the latter, though. I hate surprises.

When eight-thirty rolled by, I started to worry. I picked up my phone, only to realise that I didn't have Molly's number, or even Mrs. Hudson's. I texted John for them, but the answer I got was:

 _duNno, as k SheRl0ck. he the Geniu$_

Well. Someone was having a good time.

I decided to leave the boys alone, picked up the nearest book, and settled for the wait.


	5. Molly 3

I can't get over the fact that I completely forgot Mary. I had never done something that stupid. Except that time I thought Sherlock wanted to ask me on a date. Or when I dated London's greatest criminal mind. Anyway, that's not a contest and that was stupid. I stood up in horror, with my eyes and mouth wide open before covering my face with my hands. I silently cursed myself then gave a quick look to my watch. Thirty minutes. I kept her waiting for half an hour. That was a nightmare. You may think I'm overreacting but it's really awful. I told Mrs Hudson that Mary was actually at her house, waiting for us. She called a cab and we had to wait five more minutes for it to arrive.

Ten minutes later, I was in front of her door, red-faced, out of breath with tears in my eyes. I tried to calm down but I remembered that I had no time for that. I knocked on the door and waited, ready to get yelled at. But when Mary opened, she wasn't mad. She rather looked relieved. Of course, I apologised. More than once. Probably more than necessary as I seemed to bother Mary and Mrs Hudson, as well.

Mary was really gorgeous with her dress, her elegant shoes, her pretty make-up and her amazing hairdo. I, on the other hand, looked pitiful by comparison. I was wearing a pair of jeans, a dotted shirt, a cardigan. My hair was tied in a usual ponytail and the only make-up I was wearing was mascara. When I saw Mary's elegance, I got stressed. Maybe she expected something fancy? All my ideas seemed lame: a bar, a karaoke, a tea house, a cinema or cooking lesson.

I gave her an awkward smile before giving her the list and asking her what she wanted to do first. She looked at the piece of paper for a very long time then finally said: "Let's start with the cooking lesson that sounds fun". She didn't seem really enthusiastic **,** yet she smiled at me. I smiled back and we got on the cab, Mrs Hudson next to the left window, Mary in the middle and me on the right. I gave the driver the address. None of us said a word during the travel. We were either looking out the window, either observing our outfits. We finally arrived at the address to see that it was closing day.

"I'm sorry, I should have checked. I didn't know that it would be closed.

– That's okay. We could go to the next stop?

– Great! Um...Would you like some tea?

– ...Yes"

Mrs Hudson stayed quiet. I gave her a side look. She seemed really tired. Or she was bored. Anyway, when we arrived to the tea house, she turned to us. "I'm so sorry dears, I'm exhausted. I'm getting too old to party in the evening. I'll go back home, if you don't mind." Of course, we didn't insist. "Have fun, ladies". Then she closed the door. We watched the cab leave. I turned to her with a puzzled smile. Then we walked into the tea house.


	6. Mary 3

When the doorbell rang and I opened the door to find Molly and Mrs. Hudson standing on the porch, I was so relieved I didn't even think to try and chastise them for their tardiness. I have a rather wild and vivid imagination, and the possible explanations that my brain had come up with to explain their delay didn't really sit well with me. Besides, Molly seemed embarrassed enough as it was, so I wasn't going to add to it.

The next thing that hit me was how casual their outfits were. Mrs. Hudson was wearing a simple but pretty dress, and Molly was wearing... jeans. Her hair was in a ponytail and I barely spied any makeup on her. I could have kicked myself. I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! Of course it was going to be casual, it was a hen party, not a gala! I had half a mind to ask them to wait while I quickly got changed, but Molly beat me to it. « Mary, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! » she said, on the verge of tears. « I had everything planned out and I was on time, I swear but then I- I forgot that I was supposed to come pick you up, I'm really really sorry ! »

I glanced at Mrs. Hudson, who gave me a slight shake of the head and a shrug. « She's been beating herself up since we left the house, poor dear, » she explained, awkwardly patting Molly's shoulder.

« It's fine, Molly, » I said with a smile that was probably bigger than necessary, « You're here now.

\- Yes, but I'm late! It's your party and I... I stood you up. I'm so, so sorry.

\- Well, I'm not mad, so you can stop apologising. You're starting to sound like the tenth Doctor.

\- Sorry. I mean...

\- I know, I know. » It was getting hard not to let my frustration show. Even Mrs. Hudson seemed annoyed at this point.

Without a word – probably to stop herself from apologising again – Molly handed me a piece of paper. In her round, bubbly handwriting, she had listed this: _Bar, Karaoke, Tea house, Cinema or cooking lessons._ I kept my eyes on the words to avoid rolling my eyes. None of this really appealed to me. Well, the bar idea did, but I couldn't very well say so without sounding like an alcoholic, could I? Besides, that sounded like a last destination, not the first. I would need a lot of drinks before I am caught singing at a karaoke, and a tea house... really? The cinema was rather commonplace, so really, that only left one option.

After the longest cab ride I have ever had – and remember that I have shared a cab with a fuming, moustachioed John Watson – I found myself staring at a closed building. I hoped my relief wasn't showing, and of course Molly started apologising again. Mustering up all the patience I was blessed with, I simply offered that we should move on. And of course, the next step was the tea house. Mark my words: when it comes to party, Paris Hilton has nothing on Molly Hooper.

And that is when Mrs. Hudson politely bowed out by playing the Frail Old Lady card. Maybe Molly bought it, but I could see the mischievous glint in her eyes, and I swear I saw her sigh in relief when the cab took off. And then there were two. Molly was fidgeting as silence settled between us, and I was getting a bit tired and frustrated myself, so I walked into the tea house, Molly on my heels, if only to get it over with.

Half an hour later, though, as we sat there in silence drinking tea while the other tables were either as silent as ours or occupied by _connaisseurs_ who would marvel at the tea selection – though I'm willing to swear anywhere that it was basic Lipton tea – I turned to Molly and gave her what must have been my hundredth fake smile for the night.

« Well, this... This is...

\- Boring, » she said bluntly, taking me entirely by surprise. « Completely and utterly boring.

\- Oh, I-I wouldn't say...

\- Yes, you would. It's okay, » she added, burying her face in her hands, « It was an awful idea.

\- No, it's fine! Maybe we should just move on to the next-

\- I don't mean just the tea house, I mean the whole thing! Who am I kidding? I can't organise a party! I suck at parties. The only time I really indulde, I..." she blushed, « Well, let's just say it didn't end well. »

At least she wasn't apologising anymore. Looking at her as she miserably sipped on her tea, I felt bad for her, I really did. She looked like the child that tried to cook breakfast for Mother's Day but only ended up burning the toasts and spilling the coffee. Call it premature motherly instincts, I didn't want her to feel like her surprise was a complete failure.

« Hey, Molly.

\- Yeah?

\- That list of yours...

\- Yeah.

\- It had 'bar' on it, didn't it? »

We spent a second staring at each other before her mouth stretched into an excited grin. A moment later, we had gathered our things, paid the bill and were sitting in yet another cab.


	7. Molly 4

Mrs Hudson left, and we walked into the tea house. It seemed that we were the only amateurs of the room…or the only ones in our thirties. We were surrounded by either old people, either little girls pretending to be grown-ups. And also a bunch of tourists thinking that this is what British people do on their free time. Neither of us looked up from the menu. When it was taken away, anyone could see the fear and embarrass in our eyes. We waited and drank our cups in silent, looking at the table or faking smiles.

Mary seemed she couldn't handle that awkward silent anymore and decided to talk. And the easy-found subject was the disaster I had the gut to call a « hen party ». She waited to say something nice, she tried really hard but I didn't let her finish her sentence. I knew that was boring. Even doing the housework was a delight in comparison. I tried really hard not to apologise for the hundredth time that I told exactly what I thought of that stupid idea of mine. That being said, I felt relieved. And thirsty. I needed a drink. But I couldn't tell Mary that I wanted to go to the bar, Sherlock already thinks I'm an alcoholic, that's enough. Besides, I didn't want her to feel that she had to come with me and continue this torture. Yet she looked at me with a smile, a genuine smile – surely the first of the evening – and talked about the list. For a second, I didn't understand why she brought that up. Then I saw the glint in her eyes and I thought of the bar. We paid the bill, took our coats and rushed out of that boring place. I swore to myself to never go back there before my hair had turned white.

We went to Soho, because it's obvious the best part of the town to have a drink and stopped in front of the _French House_. As always, it was crowed but we managed to slip inside and find a table. I summoned my courage and made my way to the bar. I came back to the table with a bottle of red wine and two glasses.

"Since we don't have a lot of things to tell each other, I brought this." I said as I put _Cards against humanity_ on the table. Mary sat still for a moment before a gigantic smile appeared on her face. "I love this game!" she shouted.

I shuffled the cards, dealt the cards, and giggled seeing mine. Mary took the first question card:

"A romantic candlelit dinner would be incomplete without… I'd go for "dining with the cardboard cut-outs of the cast of _Friends_ "

\- - I'll start with the simple "riding off into the sunset"

\- - I won, then.

\- - Fair enough. My turn: What's the next Happy Meal toy?

\- - This groovy new things called LSD.

\- - Not bad….Dead babies.

\- - You're starting to sound horrible. I like it!"

The more cards were played, the more glasses were drunk, and the less aware of other people and the horrible things that we were saying we became. Everyone was looking at us and we didn't care…until we were gently asked to leave the bar. I may have overreacted and had thrown my –mostly empty- glass at the guy. We took our coats, bags, the cards, the bottle and we left, laughing out loud.


	8. Mary 4

I will say that about Molly Hooper: she's full of surprises.

As we made our way across the crowded bar, I was sure I would have to go and order the drinks but no, she valiantly announced that she was going to the bar herself, « just worry about finding us seats. » I had a feeling she was starting to relax and let her real personality show through, and who was I to discourage that.

I found us a table in the corner and, while Molly was busy ordering, I decided to give my future husband a quick call, just to check in. His earlier text had left me with a bizarre impression, even though I would have been hard-pressed to admit it. But there was nothing to worry about, I thought as I waited for him to pick up the phone, John was allowed to get a bit drunk. Sherlock had his back.

When the tone was interrupted, I heard the sound of someone fumbling with something, someone else muttering something about ash, and I could tell from the background noises that they were in a car.

« 'ello?

\- Hey, it's me.

\- Oh, hi Mary! » John's voice seemed to move away from the phone as he called out, « Sh'lock, say hi to Mary! » Then more fumbling, then: « Grumpy tosser. So 'ow was your night with Molly and Mrs. 'udson?

\- Actually it's still ongoing, I'm waiting for Molly to come back with the drinks. Mrs. Hudson went home a little while ago, though. You sound like you're having fun.

\- 'm not! » I had to suppress my laughter. I had never witnessed John drunk before. I decided to store that information for later. « Sh'lock is pants at planning parties.

\- He's not the only one, but I think things are starting to look up here » Spotting Molly as she made her way to the table, I muttered a quick, « I've got to go now, I'll see you tomorrow. »

\- Love you, » John said, which elicited a mock-gagging noise from his flatmate. The call was disconnected before I could reply.

I was about to gossip to Molly about this, but she surprised me even further with a game of _Card against humanity_ , a.k.a. The best card game ever created. We played, we drank wine, and basically started making utter fools of ourselves and yelling god-awful sentences as people gave us strange looks. Funny how booze can make other people seem unimportant.

That is, until I announced, a bit too loud: « My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of civilian casualties! » Apparently, such things are frowned upon. The manager walked up to us, asking us to « Please leave the establishment. » He was looking at me when he said that and Molly, out of drunken chivalry, decided to come to my rescue.

« Hey! » she yelled, pointing at him, « It's her hen part t'night, so back off! » and with that she threw the contents of her glass, and her glass, at him. Luckily her aim was terrible so, while he was soaked with wine, the glass narrowly missed his head and went crashing to the ground. I grabbed my coats, my handbag and my Molly – who quickly reached for her own things – and we went tumbling out of the place, giggling like maniacs on the street.

« What- What now? » she said, a bit out of breath.

« Hmm... » I pondered, « Tell you what, karaoke sounds like a load of fun right now! »


	9. Molly 5

I think that it's the right time to tell you one of my secret: I love singing. I sing all the time: in the shower, on my way to work (it's more like silently moving my lips), at work… But the truth about singing is it's not because you like it that you can do it. Truth be told, I sing off-key, like Phoebe from _Friends_. Anyway, that night, the alcohol helped.

When we arrived at the Karaoke place, we decided to sing along for a while before performing in front of everyone. While Mary ordered our Mojitos, I looked at the songs list and chose a song to sing together, without her knowing it. She came back with our drinks and we sang along, held our phones with lighted screen above us during the emotional songs, and laughed a lot. At a point, I don't really remember when, I freed my hair, took off my cardigan and unbuttoned the first two buttons of my shirt. Mary saluted the effort with an impression of the Tex Avery's Wolf that made me spit out my cocktail.

« Ladies and gentlemen, let's cheer on Mary and Molly who will sing _Don't stop believing_. » Mary looked at me for a second before saying « why not? » and we stood up and took the mics. I'd love to say that we did well, but the truth is that it was horrible. Like Cameron Diaz in _My best friend's wedding_. At least, we had fun and everyone laughed with us.

We stayed there till closing time, singing off-key of loud, sometimes more shouting than actually singing, drinking and laughing.

« It's already 3! I should go home now.

\- - No, you'd wake John up. Come at my house, it will be like a slumber party!

\- - You know that we're not 12 anymore?

\- - Who cares? » I giggled.

It's probably because of all the alcohol I had drunk that night but I don't clearly remember everything that happened after we left the karaoke bar. I know that at some point, Mary prevented me from calling Sherlock. Apparently I wanted to tell him that « he had a beautiful bum». I swear that I have no memories of that. I start to think that Mary joked about this. Not about the call but what I wanted to tell him. Even drunk, I wouldn't tell him that. I don't mean that he doesn't…Sorry. I'll go on with the story.

Next thing I remember is that Mary and I collapsed onto my couch, sitting shoulder to shoulder, with cans of beer on the coffee table. At that moment, we were so tired that we couldn't sleep but we were also incapable of keeping our eyes open.

« Molly?

-Mm?

\- Thanks.

\- What for?

\- This evening.

\- 'Kay.

\- Molly?

\- Mm?

\- You're engaged?

\- Yep.

\- I'll organise your hen party, then.

\- Only if you promise not to drag me to a tea house. »

We giggled, made a pinky swear and fell asleep till late the next morning.

As I said earlier, I don't know why I insisted on planning that evening for Mary. But I'm glad I did it.


	10. Mary 5

John will tell you that I sing to myself quite a bit. And it's the truth. But to be fair, I'm aware of my limitations, and that's why I've always avoided karaokes like the plague. That, at because it's probably the corniest form of entertainment ever invented. But of course, at this point, the wine was talking louder than me. I made the unwise decision to add Mojitos to the mix – word to the wise: don't ever do that. Molly took the opportunity to let loose a little bit, which I might have encouraged a bit too vocally. I'm half sure most of the people around us thought we were a couple, and I had a little glimpse of what John goes through all the time.

I also made the mistake of letting Molly choose the song, and of _course_ she picked something she'd heard in _Glee._ If this friendship thing works out – and to be honest, I rather think it will – I am definitely introducing her to actual music.

But I'll say this for cheesy songs at karaoke: it's much more fun when you're drunk off your face.

Our rendition was about as horrendous as it could be, but nobody seemed to mind. I'm pretty sure everyone around us was about as plastered as we were, anyway, so who cares. I vaguely registered a « Now kiss! » from the audience, but Molly didn't seem to hear. Good. She was even drunker than I was, lightweight that she is, and might have taken the man up on his offer.

I picked the next song, which turned out to be _I love rock'n'roll._ A daring choice that might have only made things worse but I didn't regret a second of it, if only because Molly Hooper trying to act tough and sing it like Joan Jett is a sight to behold. I'm not entirely sure what other songs we sang after that, as we kept on downing cocktail after cocktail, but I know we made it to closing time. Molly and I agreed that I was going to stay over at her place and I texted John accordingly so he wouldn't wonder where I was. I received no reply but frankly, I didn't really expect one. Partly because of the state he had seemed to be in during our previous conversations, partly because I wasn't doing much better at the moment. A match made in Heaven, I tell you.

I was also too busy trying to wrestle Molly's phone out of her hands. « No, I have to tell him, I have to tell him! » she kept yelling.

« You have to tell who what?

\- Sherlock. I have to tell him he has a beautiful bum, it's very important.

\- Nooo! You'll regret it in the morning!

\- But whyyyy?

\- I dunno, you just will! »

Anyway, we crashed onto her couch and I think at some point I promised her to do something for her. Probably to throw her her own hen party – even though the wedding's not going to happen, or if it does I owe John a fiver. After that we both must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing I knew, I was still on that couch, sunlight was flowing into Molly's flat and I had the mother of all headaches. Molly was already up, looking pretty dishevelled herself, and silently offered me a glass of water and an aspirin. She also made a small breakfast which we ate in silence, trying to regain our footing. Only after our third coffee did we start looking and feeling more like ourselves.

« Well, last night was fun, » I told her with a smile, which she mirrored a second later.

« It was, wasn't it? Not at first but it got better.

\- Absolutely. I'm glad we did this. » I checked my watch, then, and winced when I saw that I was supposed to be at work in an hour. « I've got to go, now, I'm sorry.

\- Oh, no, it's fine, » she assured me. As I was putting on my coat – which took three tries, if you want to know – she suddenly stood up and added: « You know, we should do it again sometime. Not a hen party, of course, I mean, going out for drinks. »

She was still a bit hesitant, but some of her sheepishness had been lost during the evening. I liked that. I smiled at her. « I'd love to. »


	11. John

As someone who's been to a couple of stag do's before, I've gathered a good grasp on what consitutes a fun stag night. Some people do sports activities – I particularly enjoyed the paintball one, even though they said they didn't want to play anymore because it's cheating if you've had actual training – some people opt for a simple dinner and movie, and some people go big and go on a bar, casino and strip-club tour. I, for one, would have been perfectly happy with a couple of drinks in a pub with my closest friends. But I, for one, chose Sherlock Holmes as my best man.

And I'll tell you one thing: waking up in a cell to the worst hangover of your life while one of your friends thinks it's funny to yell at you, is _not_ the aftermath of a fun stag do.

Anyway, after I'd seen Sherlock back to Baker Street and Mrs. Hudson had given me a couple of aspirin I headed back home, thankful at least that I worked the afternoon that day. When I got there, I ran into Mary, who had just emerged from the shower: her clothes were a bit damp, her hair was still dripping, and she hadn't done her makeup then. It hit me just how beautiful she looked then. It also hit me, a second later, that she was just as hung over than I was.

She looked up at me and gave me an exhausted smile. « Hi, there.

\- Hey. Had fun?

\- Oh yeah, loads. Closed cooking classes, then boring tea party... It got better as soon as booze and _Cards against humanity_ made their appearance though. » She had a sort of funny, reminiscent smile as she added, « And Molly and I may or may not have belted it out at karaoke. »

Well, I had some YouTube research to do later. If there is a God, surely somebody must have filmed this.

« What about you? » she asked, shouldering her bag and using her hands to try to dry her hair a bit.

« Sherlock took us on a pub tour where he proceeded to have test tubes filled with beer, which we had to ingest in a limited amount of time, which of course got us heroically drunk, and then we got into a fight, then back to Baker Street, then a client came around for a case which Sherlock ended up puking on, then we got arrested and Lestrade bailed us out. » I groaned as a thought occurred to me, « Dear God, he probably took pictures. »

Mary laughed, which made us both wince in pain. « Well, you must at least have had _some_ fun.

\- Yeah, I guess. Not worth the night in jail, though. »

Mary grinned at me, grabbed her jacket and made her way to the door, announcing the time of her return as she did so. Before she could reach the doorknob, though, I stopped her. « What about you and Molly? »

She gave me one of her mischievous smiles and said, « Johnny, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. »

I laughed at the reference, even though I've always hated to be called Johnny. Moriarty didn't help with that. « And the wedding? » I asked tentatively.

« You're going to owe me a fiver, » she said as she opened the door, « I think it'll be cancelled soon, thanks to Sherlock and his 'beautiful bum'. »

She cackled as she left, and I shouted after her, « I didn't need that image! »

The next few days after my stag party were kind of hard but I found comfort in the fact that they were as hard for Mary as they were for me. Several days after this famous Saturday night, we still couldn't see a glass of wine without feeling our stomach turning. Last time I had been this plastered was in college. I think that I swore that day that I would never drink ever again. I hope that I'd be the only vow I'd ever break. I also felt uneasy at first because it was the first time Mary witnessed me drunk but she didn't say a word about it. Actually, she wasn't in a favourable position after her own party.

The days went by and we really got into the preparation of our wedding. Sherlock seemed so stressed and involved in all the stuff (I may add more involved that I was) that Mary thought it was a good thing to find him a case. What I did. When I came home that day, I found Mary and Molly sitting on the couch, with a glass of wine and piles of paper on the coffee table.

« Hi John!

– Good evening Molly.

– I needed a little help with the preparation » Mary answered my silent question.

After that, every time I come home after a case, I find Mary and Molly giggling in front of cards. I often join them. Sometimes, Sherlock come home with me and we all play till late at night.


End file.
